We ask for help and know they will be there.
I call them angels – maybe you’ll agree,
Each day comes with a heavy cross to bear –
The work they do, the suffering they see:
The pet discarded on the motorway
To fall, alas, beneath a moving wheel.
Her shattered limbs are tended day by day;
Her shattered trust, they know will never heal.
The sad old stray who searches by the bin.
Unloved, unfed, thin coat alive with fleas –
For him a meal, sweet bath and tortured skin,
A cosy bed, where he can sleep in peace.
The tiny kittens, precious mother dead;
Without her care, they’ll struggle to survive.
Kind Foster mum, will see each one is fed,
Forgoing sleep to keep her babies alive.
Such is their compassion and their care –
Each small success to keep their spirits strong –
They work their miracles and cheat despair –
A balance for the days when things go wrong.
For when their efforts prove to be in vain,
When every ounce of loving care they gave
Was not enough, they strive to hide the pain,
And grieve for little friends they could not save.
They plead their cause:
Each suffering pet has earned,
A second chance, a home where they are free,
Where love so freely given, is returned:
Friends for life, as they are meant to be.
Angels crave no honours, only claim
To match with love, the cruelty of man,
Protecting cats is their enduring aim,
And ours must be, to help them all we can.